


a strange thing and a known thing

by kototyph



Series: spring is like a perhaps hand [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baby's First Blow Job, Castiel Is Almost Positive They Aren't, Dean Thinks They Are, Either Way Castiel Is Very Annoyed, M/M, POV Castiel, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somewhat Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Very Human Castiel, accidental booty call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9204155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: “Uh?”Dean’s voice shades high, then tries desperately for nonchalant.“We, uh. We could do that. If you wanted.”“I believe you saidwhateverI wanted,” Castiel says a touch maliciously, and hangs up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the exchange at large and a slightly tweeked Prompt 3 - "I thought you hated me but I just accidentally sent you a booty text and you accepted and I am seriously considering it” au. Hope you enjoy!

 

 

**Sunday** 10:54 AM

                                        What are you doing tonight?

 

**Sunday** 6:29 PM 

                                        Hey, cas?

 

**Monday** 3:12 PM 

                                        Hey

 

**Wednesday** 4:36 PM

                                        Hey, what’s up?

 

**Today** 7:43 PM

                                        Cas, if you want me to fuck off, you just have to say

 

**Today** 7:47 PM

 

When have you ever done what I wanted                                       

                                        I could do anything you wanted ;)

 

**Today** 7:48 PM

 

Please never send me a winking face again                                       

                                        Ok, I won’t! see how easy that is?

 

**Today** 7:48 PM

                                        Come on, cas, want to come over or something?

 

Or something                                       

                                        Like? :)

 

Stop calling me Cas                                       

                                        Oh come on

 

You said anything I wanted                                       

                                        You gotta want more than that, c a s t i e l

                                        Coffee

                                        Dinner

                                        Up to you

 

**Today** 7:50 PM 

                                        What do you want to do

                                        ???

 

**Today** 7:52 PM

You                                       

* * *

Castiel is still deciding between _moron_ and _imbecile_ when he fat-fingers the send button, and then, of course, there’s nothing to do but slump over his desk and wait for the inevitable heat death of the universe while his screen fills with a barrage of suggestive emoji. The various vegetables, hearts, and exclamation marks are followed eventually by a phone call. Then a second, when Castiel doesn’t answer the first. After successfully ignoring four more, Castiel starts to hear something from outside: a sharp _tack, tack, tack_ as a series of small objects hit his window.

 _“I know you can hear me!”_ Dean yells from the frathouse balcony less than ten feet away. _“Cas, c’mon!”_

Castiel doesn’t lift the curtains or open the pane, because it’s January and incredibly cold and Dean should suffer as much as possible. He does indulge in a long, self-pitying groan, and accepts the sixth phone call as a kind of punishment for himself for the long line of stupid, easily-avoidable mistakes that have led to this moment. An unfortunate text doesn’t even rank in the top ten, but it’s certainly the moronic, imbecilic cherry on a very lamentable cake.

 _“I’ll bring over Mama Chen’s,"_ Dean says when he picks up, as though they’ve been having a conversation instead of a one-sided shouting match. _“We can hang out, watch a movie or something.”_

“That place is dreadful.” Castiel loves it like a particularly cheap and easy boyfriend, which is perhaps not the best analogy to be making right now. “Get me the crispy pork belly and I’ll let you suck my cock.”

 _“Uh?”_ Dean’s voice shades high, then tries desperately for nonchalant. _“We, uh. We could do that. If you wanted.”_

“I believe you said _whatever_ I wanted,” Castiel says a touch maliciously, and hangs up.

Of course, by the time Dean shows up he’s reverted entirely to swaggering jackass, bright eyes and a smug, suggestive grin. White teeth dig briefly into his lip, and he says, “I got the crispy pork belly,” like it’s some kind of joke between them. The temptation to yank the greasy paper bag from his hands and slam the door closed is incredibly strong.

Then he adds, “If, you know. If you still wanted it?” an awkward edge to the words, and drops his eyes to the food in his hands. It might be just the scouring wind that colors his cheeks like that, but either way, Castiel can only sigh and step back to let him in.

He's still not particularly thrilled to have to lead Dean up the stairs and past the gawking Richards Hall boys, but at least only Zeddmore is brave enough to say, “Hey, man, you rail on us when we bring chicks in here—”

Castiel says with scorn, “ _What_ chicks?” at the same time Dean says, “You wish you pulled chicks as hot as this,” at which point Castiel shoves him bodily down the hall. “Okay, jeez, I’m going.”

“You’re the RA, you’re supposed to lead by example or something,” Spangler butts in, following Zeddmore as he trots after Castiel.  “It isn’t fair!”

“We’re just eating dinner,” Castiel lies through his teeth, and glares at the back of Dean’s head when he snorts. He gets Dean moving faster with a hand planted between his shoulder blades. “Go back to your room.”

They aren't in the least deterred. “Then can I bring my girlfriend—?”

 _“No,”_ Castiel snaps. They reach his door and he digs hurriedly in his pocket for his keys.

“But—”

“I will personally make sure you’re assigned to the dorms by the pig farms if you don’t drop this right now and for the rest of the semester,” Castiel says, jamming them in and twisting hard.

“You can do that?” Spangler asks.

“That’s abuse of power!” Zeddmore yelps.

“Buddy, you have no idea,” Dean says, and absolutely deserves the stomp Castiel lands on his boot as he shoulders the door open and pulls him inside.

“Wait!”

“ _Pig farms_ ,” Castiel threatens, and shuts the door in their faces.  

Dean is laughing softly when Castiel turns to him, that unfairly lovely crinkle of his eyes and nose that undoes something in Castiel’s chest, no matter how hard he tries to cling to it. “ _Pig farms,”_ Dean repeats, setting the bag on the desk and an open notebook; presumably, the better to soak Castiel's painstakingly detailed class notes with peanut oil. “Man, I thought depledging was harsh.”

“Leave that,” Castiel says impatiently, pushing it off his notes and pulling Dean away from the desk by his hoodie. “And take this off.”

“Bossy much?” Dean asks him, but he’s already shucking it, shirt bundled up inside so that he’s suddenly, distractingly half-naked.

“You can leave any time you like,” Castiel says, determinedly ignoring the flush rising in his own cheeks. “Or you can get on the bed.”

Dean is laughing at him again, not out loud but in the eyes, but he sits on Castiel’s unmade bed, lets Castiel push him backwards towards the institutional headboard. He obligingly drops onto his elbows as Castiel kneels on the mattress, then moves to straddle his waist.

“What if I was really starving?” Dean asks as he gets pressed into the sheets. He looks happy enough where he is, smiling as his hands settle on Castiel’s thighs with a familiarity he hasn’t earned. “Not even an eggroll, Cas?”

“You really should have thought of that before you opened your mouth,” Castiel informs him, pulling off his own sweater. “Speaking of which.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Wait, right now?”

Castiel looks down at him with raised eyebrows, skin prickling uncomfortably into goosebumps. “Why not now?”

“Now is— fine, it’s just. I thought we’d build up to it, or, uh,” Dean says, slowly reddening under Castiel’s gaze. He gets quieter on every word until he’s mumbling them, looking up at Castiel through his lashes. “Make out a little first. Maybe?”

Castiel considers him, then tosses the sweater aside to brace his hands on either side of Dean’s head. He leans in so that he cages him with his body, bringing their faces close together. “You must think you’re so cute.”

“I’m adorable,” Dean says, but feebly, wetting his lips as he stares at Castiel’s mouth.

“Hm,” says Castiel, who really can’t dispute that, and drops his head to kiss along Dean’s jaw, enjoying the shiver and restless shift of Dean’s body between his legs, the quiet noise of protest as Castiel avoids his lips and dwells on the soft skin of his neck instead. Dean’s hands skim up his back to his shoulders, his hair, to try to urge him up, and Castiel sighs into his ear.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs, shivering again. “C’mon, I want—”

“I told you,” Castiel says, and rubs his body along Dean’s with a low hum for the sheer sensual pleasure of it. Dean shudders under him. “You can leave anytime you like.”

Dean doesn’t leave, and eventually they get his pants unbuttoned and off, though it takes several slow, fumbling minutes and Castiel stops in the middle to spread his fly open and stroke him through his briefs, feeling him warm and throbbing against his fingers, enjoying the way it makes him squirm and breathe harder, kisses getting messier, mouth breaking away to gasp into Castiel’s cheek. Castiel’s sweatpants are easier, waistband sliding lower and lower until Dean’s hands are on his ass and they’re grinding into each other, fabric tangled around Castiel’s knees until he manages to gather the wit to kick them off.

“Okay, okay,” Dean pants into that small interruption, sitting up. He’s trying to push Castiel over, onto his side, but Castiel resists the movement.

“What?” he asks irritably, cupping Dean’s face to bring him close enough to kiss again. He decides that he can’t really be blamed for any of this after all, not when Dean feels so criminally good against him, when he moans low in the back of his throat as Castiel licks his mouth open, slides his tongue along the soft inside of his bottom lip before sinking his teeth in.

Dean is drawn into kissing back for a moment, like he can’t help himself, and then pulls away just enough to say, “You’re the one who— didn’t you want to?”

“What?” Castiel asks again, distracted by Dean’s weight shifting, his knee drawing up between Castiel’s.

“Cas,” Dean says, “like this,” and Castiel huffs in annoyance but allows himself to be maneuvered, doesn’t resist Dean nudging him over and sliding his hands up the backs of his thighs to spread them. “Is this okay?”

“Okay?” Castiel repeats, a bit dazedly, because Dean is moving down his body and he arches against him to feel the hot drag of it everywhere their skin touches.

“You’re gonna have to,” Dean says into his navel, nosing briefly at the hair below. “ _God,_ Cas, I’m going to need some pointers here.”

“What?” Castiel says a third time, hand on the back of Dean’s neck, and he’s still blinking blearily at the top of his head when the wash of Dean’s breath reaches his cock and _oh. “Dean.”_

“Good?” Dean says, one hand still grasping Castiel’s thigh, the other sliding up to take the base of Castiel’s cock in a soft, somewhat tentative grip. “Still good?”

“Good,” Castiel assures him thickly, and then— Dean’s looking up at him, eyes holding his while he opens his mouth and gives the very tip a careful lick, precome smearing across the flat of his tongue as it slides under the head, over the slit. Castiel is caught shuddering and transfixed by the sight, the teasing warmth and velvety, almost rough feel of it, the dark gleam in Dean’s eyes.

Dean swallows, and says, “That’s kind of nasty, actually.”

Before Castiel can even muster a glare, Dean gives him that grin that so badly wants to be cocky and ducks his head again to lip softly at the glans, tongue slicker now and curling around the excruciatingly sensitive flesh. It’s a slow and thorough exploration and Castiel’s hands clench as his hips fight against Dean's weight to twitch upwards. It’s a shallow movement, but Dean’s unguarded teeth scrape against him and Castiel makes a startled sound.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean says hoarsely, backing off again. “Don’t move, okay?”

Castiel’s fingers are digging into the muscle of Dean’s neck and he can’t make them relax, can barely stop his legs from closing around Dean’s head. “Don’t _move?”_ he asks incredulously.

“I told you, I haven’t— I don’t really,” Dean is mumbling into his fingers where they’re closed around Castiel’s length, loose still but still fantastically warm. “Can you tell me?”

“Tell you what,” Castiel says, fatalistic because he knows, he knows, but doesn’t know if he’ll survive hearing it from Dean himself.

“Asshole,” Dean says, rolling his eyes even as his blush darkens. His cheek is hot against Castiel's thigh. “You know I’ve never done this before, so tell me what to do. How to make it good for you.”

Castiel lets his head drop back against the pillows, not trusting himself to speak for a moment.

“Cas?”

“Tighten your grip,” Castiel says without looking. “Not too much, but— _yes,_ like that.” Dean brings his mouth back without needing to be told, and Castiel turns his head to the side so Dean won't see his expression. “Just like that.”

He talks until his voice fails and he can’t stop his body from arching, unable to focus on anything but the clinging heated silk of Dean’s mouth and the flex of his tongue, Dean’s head moving under his hands in an unhurried rhythm that teases but doesn’t quite reach the back of his throat, deeper and deeper until Castiel’s hands spasm in his hair and Dean takes it for a cue to let him go.

“Cas?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Come up here,” Castiel pants, still trying to hide his face in the pillows. He can’t disguise the way the words scratch in his throat, or the desperate way he grabs for Dean once he’s in range.

“Please tell me you’re close,” Dean starts to say and can’t continue when Castiel hooks an arm around his shoulders and tugs him down. He doesn't bother to bring them into his hands together or let Dean do the same. He just drags Dean flush against him and bites at his hot, swollen lips, moving against him until Dean gets the picture and guides Castiel’s knee up around his flank to make it easier.

“ _Fuck,_ okay,” Dean groans. The room is dim beyond Castiel’s closed eyelids, and Dean sounds almost tender, still winded when he murmurs, “Come on, Cas, come for me, like this, you’re so good—”

Castiel gasps open-mouthed against his shoulder and does, a long, simmering wave of sensation that leaves him pulled taut and clawing at Dean’s back, sayingfrantically, "Yes, yes, Dean—"

“Oh shit,” Dean says, strained, thrusting uncoordinated through the mess between them until Castiel is trying through hitching breaths to tell him to _stop, stop,_ he’s too sensitive to take it anymore. Dean comes and, oh, now they’re dripping with it, the heavy weight of Dean’s body pressing him deep into the mattress and smearing it over their stomachs and thighs, everywhere.

Whatever Castiel says in that moment, the moments after— Dean heavy-lidded and smiling again, whispering back between messy, open kisses to his clavical, his chest— he shouldn't be held accountable for either.

The room cools quickly after they've stopped moving, and there’s a mutual unspoken agreement to heave themselves off the bed to their feet, and eventually to the tiny bathroom attached to Castiel’s room. Castiel stays slumped against the wall while Dean negotiates with the taps to get the shower to a temperature above freezing, then pulls him in. There’s barely space for two people but there’s certainly more room than Dean allows Castiel to have, knees knocking as Dean leans agains the tile and pulls Castiel with him under the water. They stay pressed together, Castiel with his head on Dean’s shoulder and his eyes barely open, content in the moment to let Dean do what he wants.

“This is the most cooperative I think I’ve ever seen you,” Dean remarks, slowly massaging soap into his back and shoulders.

“I would not advise you get used to it,” Castiel says sleepily.

“Oh, trust me, I know better,” Dean says, strong fingers stroking up his neck to his hairline. “Damn. Food’s probably stone cold.”

“There’s a microwave.”

“In the kitchen,” Dean reminds him. “Your communal kitchen.”

Castiel blinks under the thin spray, and sighs. “You might have to resign yourself to cold egg rolls.”

“Mm. Fine with that. As long as I get credit for the pork— ow, Cas, I’m _kidding._ Ow!”


End file.
